


Closer.

by florgi



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Rio 2016, shameless fluff, the smallest hurt/comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-19 23:38:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8228651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/florgi/pseuds/florgi
Summary: Juan: Sure you don’t want to talk?Novak: I lost to you Juan. It’s not like the other times. It won’t help.Juan: Maybe it will.There was a longer pause before Novak replied. Juan started to feel anxious about this conversation. Maybe he was actually bothering his friend. A hand flew to the back of his leg to try to relax a tense muscle. Then the reply arrived.Novak: Okay.Juan: Okay??Novak: Come before I regret it.Juan: Going.OR: A version of what could have happened after Juan Martín won that first match at the Olympics against Nole.HAPPY BIRTHDAY SARA!!





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pipitass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipitass/gifts).



> THIS IS A BIRTHDAY PRESENT FOR THE LOVELIEST SARA! Thank you sweetie for being and overall awesome friend and for sharing the madness of this ship with me. Hope you like your present!
> 
> I've meant to write this for over a month but since I first came up with this idea as a present for her I figured I would have to wait to write. Hope you all enjoy it too haha

Juan’s cheeks were hurting from smiling so much. The Argentine tennis player had greeted what looked like the whole Argentina’s Olympic team. All of them. They had thrown some kind of little party in the cafeteria and then took that madness to their building. Would not have been for everyone’s coaches and trainers the celebrations on Juan Martín’s victory over no other than Novak Djokovic would have last the whole night.

It was well past midnight when Juan finally arrived to his room. The sudden silence felt odd in his tired ears. After so many hours there was little adrenaline running in his veins and his body was starting to actually feel the exhaustion of the match.

Juan let his body fall heavily on the thin mattress of his bed and sighed. He looked at his wrists lying over his thighs and the realization of what he had done downed on him. He had beaten Novak Djokovic. It seemed surreal. He almost feared he would wake up with the next blink of his eyes. But it was true. He was still fighting for a medal. He had defeated the world’s number one player and was through the second round of the Olympics.

Novak.

Now that he was away from the joy of his compatriots the thought of his friend’s defeated face kept coming to his mind.

Juan took his neglected phone from the bottom of his training back and turned it on. His limbs had started to ache but it was still dull enough to ignore it. His phone light up and an endless amount of messages of all kinds started arriving, but Juan Martín didn’t want to know about any of them. He found Novak’s contact and called him. His phone rang and rang until he was sent to voice mail. Juan cursed and threw himself in the bed again, the device discarded carelessly on the floor. After a few seconds that could have lasted hours, his phone beeped cheerfully announcing the arrival of a message. Juan had the notifications on just for a handful of people so he was quick to take it.

It was from Novak: I don’t feel like talking right now. But I’m still happy for you, you deserve this Juan.

Juan sent his reply quickly: Thank you but don’t act like you are okay. I know you are not.

Novak: Maybe.

Juan: Sure you don’t want to talk?

Novak: I lost to you Juan. It’s not like the other times. It won’t help.

Juan: Maybe it will.

There was a longer pause before Novak replied. Juan started to feel anxious about this conversation. Maybe he was actually bothering his friend. A hand flew to the back of his leg to try to relax a tense muscle. Then the reply arrived.

Novak: Okay.

Juan: Okay??

Novak: Come before I regret it.

Juan: Going.

 

The night was strangely but pleasantly chilly. There was a soft breeze coming probably from the sea rising goose bumps along Juan Martín’s arms. He had forgotten the Argentine team jacket on his rush to look for Novak and he was now regretting his carelessness. The Serb team’s building wasn’t really far from Argentina’s, though, and in a couple of minutes Juan was standing in front of the dimly illuminated lobby. He was only partially aware of how damn late it was.

He made his way into the building carefully looking around for people who could recognise him. Juan could only imagine what the media would say if someone posted a picture of him sneaking into the Serb team’s building late at night. Luckily, everyone seemed to be already in their rooms. Juan didn’t have much trouble following Novak’s instructions and soon he was knocking on the white-painted door. He waited some nervous minutes for his friend to open.

“Come in.” If Juan hadn’t been paying so much attention he would have probably missed Novak’s voice.

He pushed the door open slowly and closed it behind his back before speaking.

“Hey.”

Novak looked at him from his position lying in bed and only nodded. He looked at peace but his red eyes betrayed the fact he had been crying and a lot. Juan couldn’t help walking the few steps to the bed. He sat on the mattress facing him and smiled effortlessly at the defeated tennis player. Thankfully, Juan gathered enough strength to keep his hands in check and didn’t try to hold Novak’s. A shook from his head stopped Juan before he could utter another word.

“Don’t, please.” Novak’s eyes looked so immensely pained that Juan Martín felt he would start crying any moment too.

Juan knew how important it was for Novak to try to win a medal for his country and how important it was at a personal level after the awful summer he was having. To think that all those expectations had been destroyed because of his own victory was burning Juan from the inside. He didn’t want Novak to be hurting, not when he couldn’t provide him with the right kind of comfort.

“I’m sorry.” Novak closed his eyes and let a heavy breath out of his chest.

“Juan, shut up.” The Argentine man was about to protest but was cut by Novak’s words. “You deserved it. You played a fucking amazing game. And after everything you were through this… this is what you deserve, Juan. Don’t apologize. One of us had to win.”

Juan Martín wished he could say he had wanted Novak to win, but he didn’t want to lie. He certainly didn’t want him to lose, though; or at least not to watch him break down like this. The need to caress Novak’s face, to hold him, to _kiss him_ was killing Juan every passing minute.

“Juan,” he looked at his friend and his lips twisted into the faintest smile. “stop thinking so much. It’s painful to watch.”

Juan couldn’t help laughing. He shook his head and motioned Novak to make room for him in the bed. The Serb man complied immediately. They had gotten used to talking sitting side by side during the long periods of recovery after Juan’s surgeries. Pure fate and good luck had brought them together in the right cities at the right time. Juan was sure that one of the reasons he hadn’t lost his sanity was Novak’s friendship during the endless week of hospitalization and rehab. It was during one of these conversations, bodies lying side by side and arms pressed together, that Juan had noticed a feeling that went beyond simple friendship. He had accepted it calmly but decided not to act on it. It was the best for him and especially for Novak.

That night in Rio wasn’t any different. Tiny butterflies were playing up and down his stomach and the tips of his fingers itched to touch warm skin.  He knew he couldn’t have that, though. So he contented himself with the fleeting touches of their arms and the eventual terrible fits of laughter that Juan used as excuses to place his head over Novak’s shoulder.

“I hate I can’t be happy for you.”

Juan looked at Novak and blinked a few times trying to process his words.

“Sorry, what?”

“So slow, Juan.” He pushed his friend’s shoulder and they both laughed. “I mean, I get mad when I remember I lost. I’m furious at myself and… disappointed. Then I remember I lost to _you_ and well…” Juan arches a questioning eyebrow and Novak’s lips twist into a tiny smile while speaking. “It doesn’t really make a difference. I’m still mad.” 

“How nice of you, Nole.” But there was not a single trace of anger in Juan’s voice. He elbowed Novak softly so he would look at him. “It’s okay to feel mad and sad. Don’t worry about me.”

They looked at each other’s eyes in silence. They had been through too many of the ups and downs of their careers to need words for those kinds of feelings. They also knew there weren’t many things they could do to provide the other with comfort after a loss (and even less so if one of them had been the winner). But that meaningful silence, that small shelter of mutual understanding was even more than any of them would have imagine to ever find.

The moment was only broken by Novak yawning. Juan smiled and pushed back the feeling of leaning down and kissing his friend. He checked the time and cursed under his breath.

“I should really get going.”

Novak looked at him with confusion but stood up when Juan did too.

“Yeah, yeah, right. I uhm…” They were too close, so much so that Novak was forced to crane his neck a little to look at Juan’s eyes. The Argentine man bit back a mocking smile. “Thank you. For coming, I mean.”

Juan smiled and fisted his hand trying to restrain from holding Novak.

“Thank _you_ , in fact.” Novak looked incredibly confused again and Jaun laughed earnestly. “And then _I_ am the slow one.” He finally held Nole’s bicep tightly because _fuck everything_ and smiled again. “Without you I would have dropped everything. Several times. Wouldn’t have made it here. So yeah… thank you.”

There was a brief moment of emotional silence. Then Novak chuckled and let his body leant forward, closer to Juan.

“Yeah, in hindsight, that wasn’t very good to me, right?”

They started laughing way too loudly for the place and the time of the night it was. But they didn’t really care at all. Novak had his forehead pressed to Juan’s chest for support and Juan felt impossibly high on the closeness of his friend’s body.

Their laughter was only starting to die down when Novak put a bit of distance between them. Juan looked at him and found the brown eyes rimmed by new and happy tears. Juan’s chest almost exploded with his own happiness at the sight of it. Those were the only tears he ever wanted to see in Novak’s face.

Juan was intoxicated with the moment and had lost half of his perception of reality by then. That’s why it came as a surprise to him when he found their lips pressed together and his hands wrapped around Novak’s slender waist. Novak reacted instantly, his hands grabbing the neck of Juan’s shirt and bringing him closer.

Juan was the one to pull apart just a few centimetres after a while, just enough to look at Novak’s face. The Serb man had his eyes still closed and, Juan noticed, was holding his breath. Juan chuckled letting his forehead press against Novak’s, and whispered over his lips.

“Breathe.”

Novak did and soon was laughing quietly, but he hadn’t opened his eyes.

“Did that actually happen?” His voice was soft and low and incredibly vulnerable. Juan kissed him again cupping his face on his hands.

“Open your eyes, please.” He did and they smiled at each other. Novak stood on his tiptoes long enough to peck Juan’s lips, almost like he wanted to make sure it was actually true. Then he smiled like an idiot and hid his face on Juan’s chest. Juan didn’t miss a second and wrapped his arms around his smaller frame. He could definitely get used to that.

“I didn’t know… You…” Novak chuckled. “God, this is madness.”

“I’ve known it for a while.” The Serb man looked at him questioningly. Juan shrugged. “I don’t know, after my second surgery it was obvious but I… it might have happened before that.” Novak spoke in Serb what Juan imagined were insults. He couldn’t help laughing at him. “What about you, then?”

 “Last year, maybe. I don’t know.”

Juan leant down to kiss him again. This time he pushed with his tongue and explored Novak’s mouth tenderly. They kissed for long minutes until they had to breathe again but their bodies remained as close as physically possible.

“Okay, fuck. This…” Novak took Juan’s face in his hands and looked straight to his eyes. His thumbs caressed the sharp edge of his chin. He placed a sweet kiss to his lips and sighed. “I happily fucking change today’s victory for this. I am glad of having this, of having you.”

Juan Martín laughed and pressed a new kiss to Novak’s lips. When they looked at each other he knew Novak noticed the tears pooling in his eyes.

“Ah, _mierda._ ” Juan closed his eyes again and laughed lightly. “Would it be too much if I say ‘I love you’?”

He didn’t wait for Novak’s reply, though. Juan brought Nole closer to his body and kissed him deeply and lovingly.

“I love you.”

And Novak wasn’t Juan, he couldn’t hand in his feelings so easily. He linked his hands behind Juan’s neck, instead, and kissed him more. He traced the shape of his face, his eyelids and his jaw. He caressed all the way down Juan’s arms, his chest and his waist. And because Juan Martín knew Novak like very few people did, he understood the ‘ _I love you too’_ in every tender touch.


End file.
